Who Are We?
by kittykat221B
Summary: Two months after Sherlock's death John the world starts to blur around the edges, literally. There's a new tenant in the flat but not a person a thing. Not knowing what this thing is he tries to ignore it but it doesn't like being ignored. May or may not be rated T but whatever I'm paranoid.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello! Sorry to those of you who were reading my fanfiction "An Impossible Event" I had no inspiration for it anymore. But I have been working ahead on this one just to make sure I can complete it. Expect a chapter every Tuesday/Wednesday. Reviews, favourites or follows are appreciated! Thank you! Love you. x **

It started about two months after Sherlock jumped, the darkness. John noticed it in the corners of his vision, but it continued to expand, and one morning he started to hear whispers. At first he couldn't decipher them they were just mumbles, but as soon as the darkness crowded to where he couldn't see out of the corner of his eye, the whispers got louder.

He remembered the first time he heard it it was two weeks ago at the surgery he was diagnosing a patient when he heard the voice say: _How's your sister's drinking Johnny? _Lets just say the patient was looked at by another doctor.

Even now the voice (that sounded startlingly similar to Jim Moriarty) chattered away in his ear, drawing his attention away from the patient he was trying to work on. The voice, he thought was probably his subconscious considering it kept whispering things like _I'm a fake _and _goodbye, John, _which are things Sherlock said, so shouldn't it be Sherlock's voice? But he didn't have an answer for the darkness slowly clouding his vision. He had called the optometrist to book an appointment, for tomorrow and hopefully find out what is causing it.

After his shift had finished at the surgery, he took a cab home and was greeted by Greg waiting outside 221B (he couldn't find the courage to leave) tapping his foot impatiently. Paying the cabbie and sliding out he called in greeting walking up the few steps.

"What brings you 'round here?" Making sure to face him completely.

"Well there's been a murder and since Sherlock is..." he trailed off. "You're the next best thing."

John shook his head. "Sorry Greg I can't...I'm not really at full capacity." He didn't want Greg to find out about his vision, until he knew what it was himself.

Greg let out a sigh and rubbed at his face, he really did look worn down and tired. Bags under his eyes, clothes rumpled, head tilted slightly to the side as if relieving pain. _Wife is cheating again,_ John flinched at the voice and willed it to stop but it kept going. _Been sleeping on the couch, not the most comfortable place to sleep; got a kink in his neck. Look at his clothes they're rumpled, been sleeping in them then. So wife is cheating and he knows but he's desperate and worried for his young child so he stays. _John shouldn't be in awe from a voice but he knew he was gaping because Lestrade was giving him a look like he had several heads.

"John, are you alright considering...?" John laughed bitterly, if he only knew. 'Oh yeah Greg perfectly fine, other than my vision slowly fading and I'm hearing a voice that may or may not be Jim Moriarty talk to me in my head. Perfectly fine.'

"Of course I'm not, but who is?" Even Sally and Anderson looked regretful at his funeral. Greg nodded his head in agreement.

"But anyhow, sorry I can't be of any help, I really am not in full working mode physically and mentally." The voice giggled and he grimaced.

Greg sighed, again(he'd been doing that a lot lately). "Well give me a call when you're up for it, or you want someone to you know talk to." Plastering on a fake smile and promises of calls he'd probably never keep he went into the flat.

Putting the kettle on he grabbed two mugs and placed a teabag in each then silently cursed, he'd been doing that a lot lately; making tea for a non-existent Sherlock. It was probably the voice muttering in his ear making him think someone else was in the flat. The darkness surrounding the edges of his vision cut out where his cup was placed so he blindly reached for it in the general direction and ended up spilling it on the counter. He sighed.

Sleeping seemed to be the hardest it's when the voice became louder like tonight, he shut his eyes ready to go to sleep and the voice would startle him awake. _Johnny, you never answered my question those weeks ago, how's your sister's drinking? What about Clara, how is she doing?_

"**Shut. Up.**" He said through gritted teeth. _Oh now Johnny don't be that way, only trying to make conversation considering I'm dead and all._

He shook his head and pulled up the covers to his nose, he tried to sleep again. The voice seemed to quiet after that, but not too long until he felt cold fingers card through his hair; he shivered. The hand moved down his face leaving icy trails in their wake; they smoothed over his Adams apple and brushed his sternum. It felt as if there was ice flowing in his body instead of blood and the fingers didn't stop. Whatever it was moved the blanket and continued their trail down his body. The cold was now burning every cell in his body and he whimpered. Shivering his teeth started to chatter but he never opened his eyes, he didn't want to see what this thing was.

By now he figured his body was made out of ice, that he was just a frozen statue laying in bed. Maybe he would die of the cold, be reunited with Sherlock once again, they could solve crimes in paradise; he smiled at the thought. Sherlock would probably scoff and tell him there was no such thing as paradise and of course John would bite back his own reply 'Paradise is with you, therefore I would be in paradise.' John didn't know what he would say to that, maybe he would look shocked maybe even embarrassed or even...No that wouldn't happen.

_DON'T IGNORE ME!_ Startled John sat straight up in bed eyes flying open, paradise trickling away with every harsh breath. Eyes focusing he could just make out a dark figure at the foot of his bed and he could see the steam leak out of his mouth in the cold air of his bedroom.

"Is this your doing?" He said gesturing to his eyes. The figure only smiled needle point sharp teeth glistening in the dark, he tried a different approach.

"Are you Jim?" This time the figure chuckled. _No Johnny I only steal the voice of the man you speak of I am so much worse. _The room seemed to drop 10 degrees and he grabbed the blanket, pulling it around him.

"Are you the devil?" The figure laughed. _Close John Watson but not quite. _He was surprised to hear his proper name, he tried again.

"D-demon?" The cold was making his teeth chatter uncontrollably making him stutter. _Correct Johnny._

"But why are you here?" 'Why me?' Was the unasked question. _I am the demon of Sorrow_ _and you John Watson have ample amounts of sorrow residing in your soul._

The demon's voice had changed, it now sounded like velvet gliding by his ears and he almost forgot who he was talking to; his thoughts turned once again to Sherlock. The beautiful blue green of his eyes, the soft tumble of curls he would really have liked to touch and his cupid bow lips. But the image was fuzzy, fading in and out of view and he panicked. What if he never remembered? What if all the memories of Sherlock faded?

Something cold clenched his heart and he screamed.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Why hello I felt I should update the fanfiction considering I have the chapter done. Sherlock will end up coming back and it will be Johnlock but not yet patience! Thank you to everyone who reviewed, favourited and followed I love you guys. Now to continue. x **

**P.S: Luctus is a loose translation of sorrow in Latin, thought it a fitting name.**

The pain seared his heart freezing it, the ice spreading like wildfire to his arms and legs until he was crying in pain. Someone was crying out his name but it sounded distant in his ears, far away and the voice kept whispering.

_Scream for me Johnny, I want to hear you scream. Scream. SCREAM!_

The fist clenched tighter and the pain doubled, he started thrashing.

"Let me go!" He screamed. _That's right Johnny, scream for me._

The hand that closed around his bicep felt like fire and he screamed again. The fire seemed to melt the ice and he stopped screaming. Tears soaked the front of his shirt and he panted heavily throat burning. Opening his eyes it was pitch black, he couldn't see and he sighed in relief, the demon was gone then.

"John?" Came the familiar voice. The sweet baritone washed over him in bliss. At least it wasn't the demon anymore, he quite liked this voice.

"Sherlock." He breathed.

"John look at me." The new voice said, it seemed to come from his right and he turned his head.

"I can't see anything it's too dark." His voice was scratchy from the screaming.

"No John," The new voice said "The light is on."

"Then why can't I see?" He whispered, he knew his voice sounded scared.

"I don't know" The new voice (he would now refer to as Sherlock) sounded scared too.

John curled in on himself, he laid on his side bringing his knees to his chest and hugged them. Tears dripped off the tip of his nose and his throat burned, he needed a drink. He sat up and he wiped away the few remaining tears, he stood up swaying slightly but he made no effort to move. Lifting a trembling hand out in front of him he took a step forward, so far so good. But after the second step he didn't move he just stood there with his hand outstretched, waiting. Was he real, Sherlock? Could he help him?

No one grabbed his hand, his heart plummeted but an icy grip closed around his hand. _Such a fool John Watson, you hear the voice of your boyfriend and your heart soars. Pathetic. But tricking you does wonders for your soul, I do love the sweet smell of sorrow in the morning. _And he giggled.

Was it the morning already? Guess time flies when you're screaming in pain. Right now he really needed Sherlock, he knew he would figure this out get John his eyes back. But he could have also told John he was useless and told him to move out, he figured that the latter would be a more logical answer.

Thinking he should try and at least make it downstairs he took a step forward and felt icy hands grab his and pull. Doing nothing to pull away he let the demon guide him downstairs and onto his armchair.

"Some tea would be lovely considering you seem in the helping mood." He heard the demon growl. _I don't help people._ Came the snide remark. _Your soul isn't ready yet and I can't have you dying on me now can I?_

John sighed he did have a point? Should he even be agreeing with this, it was **his** soul but a world without Sherlock wasn't a world worth living in soul or not. Damn it, did Sherlock really hold that big of a role in his life, his heart his soul even. Even when Sherlock was being a prat or a child John stayed, it was more than just for the danger and he knew that. Sherlock was different around him, he gave him real smiles opposed to the fake ones he gave clients or the ones to flatter Molly into getting what he wanted. Sherlock also had said he was his only friend so that would've had to count for something and god he would've probably committed suicide if Mike hadn't introduced them that day in St. Barts. Before Sherlock had entered his life it had been boring, the same routine everyday nightmares, a psychosomatic limp (which he cured in a mere few hours) he added vitality to his life and cured him in more ways than his limp. John loved the man and he could never tell him it filled him with sorrow (how ironic).

_More please Johnny but without all the sappy bits about your love for Sherlock it does repeat itself._

"Why should I even give you my soul how does it benefit me in anyway?" John was playing with fire and he knew it.

_Well I could give you your eyesight back for one oh and yes it was me that took it. _The voice really was like velvet smooth without a crease, it was almost soothing.

"And?" He prompt.

The demon sighed. _And I could tell you something important maybe two things depending on how good you are. Perhaps I could also bring a certain consulting detective back._

It didn't take him long to decide his answer "Deal."

_Good,_ the voice purred _Now a kiss to seal the deal. _Frozen lips touched his own in a chaste kiss. John spluttered and wiped a hand across his mouth, he still couldn't see.

"We sealed the deal, now where's my eyes?" He demanded.

The demon sighed. _One problem, it'll take at least a week for it to come back fully I can only return it to where it was before I took it fully._

John nodded and motioned for him to do so. Icy fingers danced around his eyes and he shut them. They brushed at his hairline and along his jaw; they froze at his temples sending a violent shudder his body. The ice was replaced with warmth and it they took the same course warming the ice as they went, when it was finished he didn't open his eyes in fear it didn't work.

_Open your eyes Johnny. _The voice whispered and there was a knock at the door.

"Yoohoo John I brought you some tea," It was Mrs. Hudson, his eyes fluttered open to see her setting the tray down in front of him, it worked it was still blurry around the edges like he said.

"Sorry Mrs. Hudson I was resting my eyes." He lied easily, she patted his shoulder giving him a pitied look and left. He sighed.

* * *

When night came around he lay in bed wide awake, he felt well rested for not sleeping the previous nights and the demon was oddly quiet tonight. Bored he tried talking to him:

"Um uh hello...? Do you even have a name or what?" The room got a bit colder.

_Yes Johnny,_ the demon thought for a moment. _You can call me..Luke._

"Why Luke? I would expect a more exotic name." The demon sighed.

_Okay John look, my name is Luctus and I happen to like Luke for short._

John nodded "Alright Luke, can I see you?" The demon heaved a big sigh.

_Do you have to? _He whined and John chuckled, but he did so anyways.

The demon, was in fact a man and an attractive man at that. Luke was skinny but not overly so, he had a nice chiseled face and he was bone pale (it went well with his ice cold skin). He was taller than John but not by too much, tousled honey brown curls fell across his forehead. Luke looked embarrassed to be showing John what he really looked like or maybe because it took the mystery of a bodiless voice, but who knows.

_Are you going to stare at me all da-_

"Hey John I- Who's this?" Unfortunately Greg decided to visit just as Luke was visible.

Luke took it upon himself to do the introductions, sneaky smile on his face. Purring his name, e grabbed Greg's hand and kissed the top of it. Greg blushed and stuttered like a school girl, he even giggled. It was disgusting and he made a loud gagging noise and Greg jumped pulling his hand away and shuffling over to John.

"Mind if I-" John cut him off with a sharp, "No"

Greg elbowed him suggestively, "Want him all to yourself, eh?" He sighed "I respect that, you did see him first."

John didn't even answer, it didn't do him any good with Sherlock so why would it work now, he sighed.

**A/N: Review please! x**


	3. Chapter 3

_Sexy man, though, not my type_

"Do I even want to know what your type is?" John asked and the demon grinned, lips stretching over sharp teeth.

_Perhaps not, _he stepped toward John. _You know my type John you just don't think. _

Most likely sorrow or something masochistic, he wiped away the images of Luke wielding a riding crop and shuddered. Wandering into the kitchen he decided to make tea, he assumed Luke had done enough helping to last him a century. Hearing footsteps behind him he turned around, Luke was still in solid form, curls shifting as he walked.

"Tea? Or do you not.." He trailed off. Did he need to eat and drink, he was a demon after all and he didn't really know about this stuff, hell he didn't really even believe it before today. The darkness around his eyes was really starting to get bothersome he could barely find the tea bags and cups; he almost dropped one when he tried to reach for it.

_Tea would be lovely, but I'll make it you go sit. _The demon said and shoved him to the side grabbing the cup from his hand. Startled he stumbled and hit the table, hitting the corner off his leg and he winced in pain. Making his way to his armchair he sat down and Luke set down his cup. John watched the steam disappear into the air he didn't know a demon could be so nice; he was about to voice this thought when he felt fingernails dig into his neck.

_Am. Not. Nice. Never was, never am and never will I be, got it?_ He nodded, the hand tightened fingernails pressed into his skin drawing blood. _I said. Got. It? _

"Yes." He croaked and Luke released him. Putting his hand up to his neck he went to the bathroom to clean himself up. It didn't need much, just a cleaning and a bandage. He heard the chime of his phone and he answered it, it was the optometrist he never showed up to his appointment. Shit. He lied and said he had slept in too late also saying he didn't need to reschedule he didn't need it anymore.

His tea was cold when he got back (not without bumping into at least five things) and Luke was gone. Huh.

* * *

Two weeks passed and his vision still wasn't back (it hadn't even improved) but he was starting to be able to work around it. Working and sleeping were a lot easier now that Luke wasn't blabbing to him constantly, but the flat had felt a bit lonely without him around; a part if him even missed the man. Greg had asked about him when they went out for a pint, he just told him Luke had gone out of town to visit family and that he would be back soon. He knew it was a bad lie but at that point Greg was half drunk and was willing to believe anything.

For the first night since Luke had gone John dreamt. He was in a valley that seemed to stretch for miles, long green grass swayed to the rhythm of the wind. The valley was empty all except John who stood staring at the same place on the horizon, he was frozen to the spot like he was waiting for someone or something. A small pain ignited in his chest, like a candle flame small, but burned no less. He didn't think much of it was only a dream after all. And an odd dream it seemed to be, not significant to him in any way, it was actually quite lonely all alone with the wind his only company. Holding his breath he listened to the wind, it seemed to whisper the same two words over and over again.

"_Sixty days." _The breath whooshed out of his chest and he woke up.

Blinking harshly at the sunlight creeping through the window, John pulled the covers over his head it felt like he hadn't slept at all. Groaning, he threw off the covers and was greeted by the chilled air of the morning as he stumbled his way downstairs acknowledging how his eyesight seemed to be improved, not much, but every bit counted. Putting on the kettle he slumped into a chair and rested his head on the top, thinking about the dream. "_Sixty days." _Sixty days until what? He get his eyesight back, until Luke comes back? John had no idea and he wasn't all that sure he wanted to find out.

The kettle screamed sinking him back into his dull, blurry reality and he stood up grabbing a teacup and bag making his tea with no sugar but a slip of milk. Glancing at the sugar he thought of Sherlock, when they were on the Hounds of Baskerville case and he had "drugged" him with sugar in his tea. Then when he was locked in the lab and thought he had seen the Hound, he chuckled but his chest hurt. The small fire still burning deep within his chest not hot enough to burn, but it was an irritating pain stuck at the back of your mind with all the other useless things until it makes it's way to the front. Small flame burning he rubbed at his chest, maybe it was just heartburn, sudden heartburn he had no say in.

Leaving his full cup of tea on the table he went up to his room and got dressed. Today he was going to visit Sherlock's grave so he dressed casual, in his black and white stripped jumper and a pair of blue jeans nothing too fancy. John finds it odd that even though he has lost the excitement in his life his limp remains hidden deep within the tendrils of his mind. Or maybe it hadn't gone away because of Luke being there adding oddity to his life, he couldn't remember if the limps was there before Luke. It wasn't that long ago but the memories were hazy, surrounded by an air of whether they were real or whether they were dreams intertwining with half-forgotten memories to make up a whole new set of mind. Maybe Luke had always been with him, just hidden when Sherlock entered his life, sorrow from his post-war days trickling away with each new experience he had with Sherlock.

There was the rough time a week after Sherlock died that he sat in his room with his gun pressed to his temple, sobbing for the loss of his bestfriend until Greg had found him there some hours later and convinced him to put the gun down. Ever since Greg has kept a close watch on him, he tries to hide it but John could see the lingering pity and caution behind his eyes.

Arriving at Sherlock's grave he realized he forgot the flowers and silently cursed, oh well what can you do.

* * *

Sherlock's PoV (only one btw)

Sherlock made sure John was safely gone before he entered the flat, he scanned the living room. Nothing was moved, his experiments still sat on the table, the skull on the mantelpiece the unused things seemed to be coated in a fine layer of dust. Not letting Mrs. Hudson dust then. It didn't look like he was doing much of anything really, his armchair was left unused and the kettle was out a full cup of tea still left out. He went up to John's room staring at the bedspread, he's been sleeping okay no nightmares although he did dream quite vividly last night, a corner of the sheet wasn't folded underneath the mattress. Moving limbs.

Sighing he went back downstairs grabbed the paper and flopped on his armchair waiting for John to get home.

* * *

John's PoV again

The visit at Sherlock's grave went well, he didn't cry and his voice didn't even crack. Feeling a small burst of pride as he climbed the seventeen stairs to the flat he thought about Luke. Luke had become s big part of his life even though he was a demon and he was after his soul. That was big enough itself, but he had been gone and he missed the man. The flame was back (or present, had it really gone away?) and he rubbed at his chest. Entering the flat his eyes went straight for the person sitting in **Sherlock's **armchair their face was obscured by the newspaper but he knew who it was.

"Luke."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hey guys sorry for the delay I was visiting my mom and I didn't bring my laptop (stupid mistake.) But anyways I'm back with another chapter. Thank you to everyone who had reviewed, favourited or followed my fanfiction you guys are wonderful. Love you. x**

"Who's Luke?" The man sounded like **him, **but Luke could change his voice he was just being a douche again.

"Oh ha ha. Very funny, cut it out." Sarcasm leaked like venom out of his mouth.

"John, look at me." John squeezed his eyes shut his clenched fists trembled.

"No. I know it's you Luke you can change your voice, so you can change your body." John felt a hand fall onto his shoulder and he flinched.

"John," his breath was warm on his neck. "You're being an idiot.

He almost smiled at that but this wasn't Sherlock it was a demon who insisted he torture him until he broke. Turning around he shoved 'Sherlock' away grabbing a knife. Holding the knife to Sherlock's throat he backed him against the wall.

"Turn back, **now.**" He growled "I'll kill you I shot that cabbie for Sherlock not even a day after we met, so don't think I'd hesitate."

Sherlock looked shocked and John giggled he pressed the knife harder. Blood leaked past the edge of the knife and stained his collar.

_Kill him Johnny, make him scream._

The knife clattered to the floor and John stumbled backwards, hand covering his mouth. Sherlock, the _real _Sherlock was frozen, staring at John with fear in his eyes. John stared back at him, he breathed erratically making his palm sweaty tears stung his eyes.

_I'm disappointed in you John, you should have just ended it._

John slapped his hands over his ears. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!" He screamed. "Get out of my head!"

Luke giggled and he felt icy breath on his neck. Arctic hands trailing on his neck and chest, moving his arms down beside his body. Luke hugged him turning him to ice, and he felt the frost in his veins leaking into his heart, freezing him to the core. By now John was crying tears freezing on his cheeks and he winced when he felt his heart numb with cold. The ice clenched his heart and he cried out struggling in Luke's arms. They were like a barrier blocking him from the warmth, blocking him from reality and he fell into the pit, insanity became him.

The pit is where he went insane. There was no sound, not even the ringing your brain makes up just to have a sound, and he was stranded his brain his only companion. Inside the pit Sherlock fell, he fell, and he fell. And he hit the ground, John screamed. Blood seeped from Sherlock's head and John vaulted forward only to be knocked down, slamming his head on the pavement. Scarlet soaked his beautiful ebony curls and stained the sidewalk. Intelligent eyes clouded with death and his vision disoriented by tears that didn't fall.

The scene vanished leaving him to wallow alone in the out, he liked it that way secluded, alone. His wrist stung and the blood had dried a maroon colour. Red fingernails cut into his wrist and he hissed, they continued up to his neck where they sliced into his skin, paper cuts. Instead of blood,red smoke trailed from the grazes on his neck, the smoke smelled strongly of roses and he choked. Looking up into the face of Irene Adler she smiled. Fingers trailing up to his face she cut across his cheekbones, black smoke fell to the floor like tears, exploding similar to water when it hit the ground. Her lips were painted red to match her nails and they stretched across needle-like teeth.

But her smile had faded, replaced now with pity, her hair wasn't done up it fell in waves, blue smoke threaded with brown giving her face a eerie look and her eyes glowed blue to match. She wore Sherlock's coat, black dress underneath and she smiled a sad smile.

"_Goodbye John Watson." _And she vanished. John breathed a sigh of relief.

The cuts didn't disappear with her, but they had stopped leaking red smoke. He hugged his knees to his chest clutching on to them for dear life, tears still hadn't fallen and his eyes stung. Hands reached out for his out of nowhere moaning for various people and he had shrunken into himself. Sand leaked from nowhere filling up the room, the red smoke mixing with the sand looking like blood, he didn't move. Death, he would die see Sherlock again anything to get away, the sand continued to fall. It was past his ankles. When it reached his elbows the temperature dropped, sand cold as ice stung his wrist and he shivered. He could feel the ice make its way to his heart, trailing down his neck and up his legs, white smoke leaked out of his cuts falling into the red and they danced.

Luke appeared before him but he didn't smile he only stared a small frown played on his face. _This isn't fun anymore Johnny, your time is up. _And he disappeared again leaving him alone once more. The sand had stopped flowing and he was surrounded only by the mist and the icy sand. Footsteps echoed in his ears and he covered them whimpering. There was a blast of heat and the ice in his veins started to melt, the arms that encircled his body were warm and he leaned into the embrace. The heat lifted him up and out of the pit, placing him on what felt like a warm cloud and kissed his forehead. Opening his eyes he was eye to eye with Sherlock and he started sobbing.

"I-I'm so sorry Sherlock." He choked out. "I thought you were someone else."

Sherlock smoothed a hand over the cut on his cheekbone, frowning.

"John..I'm more worried about you and your mental stability." His voice sounded like music in his ears and he sighed.

Something caught John's eye by Sherlock's shoulder, it was Luke. John scrambled away from Sherlock, screaming, Luke waved at him. Sherlock dove at John grabbing his biceps trying to pin him down and stop his screaming. John couldn't rationalize why he was screaming, his mind had broken and nothing made sense, Luke had finally made him crack, insane. He was falling away from reality and nothing could ground him not even Sherlock. He screamed at Luke.

"Go away! I hate you, you fucking demon. I'm going to kill you, rip your fucking throat out." Darkness completely clouded his vision and he stopped screaming, he was silent. Luke's laughter echoing in his ears. Sherlock was trying to get his attention, shaking him, he tried to respond but it was like his body had shut down, he was eternally in the pit. Lost.

**A/N: R&R please! .x**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Oh hay lovelies I'm sorry it has been so long since I've uploaded a chapter, I've totally been slacking and I'm so so sorry. But I'm back and I want to say thank you all for favouriting or following, even reviewing I love it. x**

Sherlock's PoV

Sherlock saw the descent, saw John's mind close in on itself, saw death in his eyes but he wasn't dead not yet not if he could help it. He called Mycroft. No he didn't want to but John needed his help. John_, John, __**John.**_The hospital was dreadful but he stayed, not touching him just watching, mind whirring. A fire started in his mind, it burned the gardens that surrounded his mind palace, he needed John back before he burned alive. Thoughts were scrambled, his vision blurred John's barely breathing body. . His mind teared fire ate up the entrance to his palace.. It was too late, the flames had already entered.. Blistering heat stung his eyes and burned trails down his cheeks. Tears. He was crying and it burned.

It almost felt like a joke, watching John in a coma it looked like he was sleeping, unbroken. The subtle beep of the many machines hooked to him, they had monitored John's brain and they had said he wasn't brain dead, that his brain was actively producing images. Night terrors. John was trapped in his own mind he had fell into the horrors of his past and he may never rise again.

_John, I'm so sorry._

John's PoV

Here he was back inside the pit, he needed a way out and fast; Sherlock was on the surface alive. But he couldn't see past the glow of the candle light, the mist was thick and the smell of rotting flesh was heavy in the air. He could hear a soft clacking a brush against the sand that still littered the floor. It was cold, too cold. The air itself was practically ice but he didn't freeze, the clacking got louder. _**No, closer. **_He squeezed his eyes shut and he felt something brush his ankle, he bit down on his tongue to stop the scream. He could practically taste the rotting flesh, the smell had gotten so strong, he gagged and opened his eyes.

The thing was a hand, leftover black, rotted flesh speckled the bones and trailed up the arm bone. The head still had tendrils of hair left over, brown. The eye sockets were empty and the lower jaw clacked against the upper, trying to make words without a voice box. The empty eye sockets seemed to stare at him and the mouth smiled in such a way that was barely different from Irene Adler. The corpse had dragged itself halfway up John's legs before he kicked it away, it disappeared in a puff of smoke. He passed out.

Next came Jim Moriarty, stepping out of the shadows wielding knives as teeth and his hair was a wisp of trailing dark smoke, his eyes seemed like pits themselves, bearing no emotion. He was smiling, knives glinting in the candlelight. White smoke crawled up Jim's Westwood suit, curling around his body giving him an eerie look.

"_Poor Johnny all alone in the pit without his beloved." _He snickered.

"_Well tick tock John fifty days. Fifty days and he can't be saved." _Jim turned to sand, he passed out.

OvO

A breeze blew, brushing the sand into a pile. That pile grew, molding itself into a human shape, the red and white smoke concealing it from sight. That smoke vanished revealing Mycroft Holmes, wielding his black umbrella and three piece suit but something was different he had wings. Not the white fluffy type wings these ones were black and looked as if they would feel like leather. They had many designs etched into the wing itself, swirling patterns that seemed to move if you stared too long and the bottoms brushed the sand.

"_Don't gawk John, it's impolite."_ His tone took the tone of a parent speaking to a child, typical.

"_I do bear a message for you, and I'm rather disappointed that you haven't resurfaced by now. The doctors are ready to give up, but my impossible brother won't let them. Hasn't left your bedside and before you ask, yes he's been eating and sleeping." _Mycroft looked thoughtful for a moment, wings fluttering.

"_Forty days John Watson, forty days and time will stop." _He stepped backwards into the shadows and was gone, John passed out.

OvO

No one came for awhile and John figured he ought to start to find a way out of the pit, but when he stood up his knees buckled and he fell on his arse in the sand. Rubbing is sore bum he tried again, slower and he stood, back straight. Picking up the candle he moved it in different directions, the light swallowed up darkness and revealed what was hidden. Tables, cluttered tables full of useless items, some bones, some books, some broken children's toys and one had a single item on it, an hourglass. He walked to the hourglass, the sand was almost half gone, he counted in his head.

_Thirty days, Johnny, thirty days until he burns. _Luke.

John grit his teeth and his fist closed. _**Deep breaths,**_ he told himself blood boiling.

"Just leave me alone dammit!" _**I don't need you anymore, I need him.**_

_You want to get out of here don't you? Save him? You both are at fate's fingertips and she's playing you two like a piano. And you John Watson are waltzing about down here while he is up there, waiting. Get out, get out and save him. You couldn't save him before here's your second chance. _

John swung, fist colliding with flesh and he heard a crunch. Broken nose. Smart ass demon.

"Get me out of here. **Now.**" It came out as a snarl and he grabbed the collar of Luke's black silk shirt, hand throbbing. He shoved the demon against the wall, fire coursing through his veins straight into the fingertips clutched at the demons throat. Luke was grinning, like the Cheshire cat but the grin turned sour and he started to squirm the longer the fingertips dug in. John at this point was seeing white the anger had gotten out of control now and he could feel his fingers burning the skin of Luke's throat but he made no move to stop it, he squeezed harder fingernails making black liquid ooze past his fingertips.

The demon tried to laugh but it came out as a gurgle, he was crushing his windpipe and he finally let go when the demon finally screamed in pain. The scream was like nails on a chalkboard, it scratched the surface of your brain and you had no choice but to cover your ears. Collapsing onto the floor, ears covered, John curled into the fetal position whispering to himself. _**Accident, it was an accident. I was just angry it got out of control and I snapped, yeah that's what happened. **_He needed out.

OvO

A number of days had passed, but it felt like a century in the pit old friends kept coming back to haunt him. Mrs. Hudson, Mike Stamford, Molly Hooper, Greg Lestrade etc etc. Irene Adler, Jim Moriarty and Mycroft Holmes made one other appearance, short and sweet. Then came Sherlock, signature coat, scarf, suit etc but his curls were plastered to the side of his head with blood. It trailed down the side of his face and all the way down into his scarf. His eyes were blank like he was dead and he wasn't going to check if the warmth was making an escape from his body. Sherlock didn't talk, he only uttered:

"_With forty days gone, just twenty remain_

_Inside the pit, you wait in vain_

_Fate, who will cause him pain _

_Shall never, ever speak his name,_

_For forty days have gone and twenty remain."_

Only twenty days left and he needed out.

Sherlock's PoV

It had been 5 weeks, two days, 3 hours and 26 six minutes since John went into a coma and 3 days, 3 hours and 26 (now 27) minutes since he had last slept. He was in his usual perch beside John's hospital bed, uneaten hospital food on the end table. The hand in his, like usual, was limp and the heart monitor beeped with a regular heartbeat. He was nodding off, but he wanted to keep himself awake just in case John woke up but the sand was too heavy on his eyelids and he fell asleep.

Sherlock dreamt of whirling colours. Blues twisted and curled as the sky, grey twined with blue; storm clouds. The wind blew around him in a light purple, he stood atop a building and behind him James Moriarty lay dead in a pool of his own blood, eternally smiling. Looking down he saw John, his dear John. He could hear his yells through the phone but he didn't listen. But when he thought this was when he was going to jump, he didn't. He stepped off the ledge (_stop stop no John will die) _and a gunshot rang through the air. _No!_

And then there was beeps, harsh ones that pierced the veil of his mind and clawed at his brain, they were hurried sort of like a racing heartbeat. _Heartbeat...John!_ His eyes snapped open, he was awake and so was John.

Nurses crowded them, ripped Sherlock's hand out of Johns and ushered him out the door. There was yelling coming from inside the room and it sounded a lot like his name, he strained his ears to listen.

There it was "Sherlock! Let go of me, Sherlock!"

The yells ceased until the door banged open and revealed a disheveled John, who as soon as he spotted Sherlock bolted right toward him. He wrapped his arms around him and Sherlock grunted in pain when they hit the floor, John on top of him.

"I'm so glad you're okay, we need to go home right now pack our bags and go to Canada." John's voice was hoarse from not being used for so long and he wasn't making any sense.

"No John, we will go home but we're staying." When did he become so soft?

John got off of him and curled into a ball. He muttered something along the lines of 'only twenty days left.' Needs more data, he helped John to his feet and went to speak to the doctor while John got looked over by the nurses. John was fine and was able to be discharged in the next ten minutes.

The cab ride was peaceful but John sat right beside him, practically on top of him but he didn't push him away. He could feel John staring at him, he was worried but he wasn't really sure why, he was the one in the coma for five weeks. Home came soon and it was good to be back with John, everything was back to normal.

Or so he thought.

**A/N: More to come~ Johnlock~ Review/favourite/ follow please!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: This is the end. Hold your breath and count to ten. But yeah this is the final chapter and I had a lot of fun writing and I hope you guys had fun reading it! Thanks to everyone who reviewed/favourited and followed this story I'm glad you liked it! See you soon. x**

"_Time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice but, for those who love time is eternity." -Henry Van Dyke_

The hourglass was almost out. Time seemed to speed up, it was a mere three days until **that day. **The moment in time when Fate was going to play her hand. He hadn't told Sherlock about any of the warnings in the pit nor did he tell him about Luke. The past seventeen days had been hectic, cases with Sherlock while trying to find a way to stop whatever was going to happen. He had no luck, he had been given a second chance with Sherlock and he was going to lose him, again permanently this time. It was if Sherlock hadn't ever been dead, like he had been alive the whole time just...elsewhere. Elsewhere..._wait._

"Sherlock!" John rushed into the living room where Sherlock laid, sprawled out on the couch.

"Mmmm?" Came the reply.

"You- Where were you all this time?" Sherlock's head snapped up, his eyes met John's.

"I figured eventually you would ask such a question. The answer is simple; I was dismantling Moriarty's criminal web." Sherlock was right (when isn't he) Jim Moriarty was like a spider at the centre of a web and he knew how each line danced.

Sherlock told him about the assassins that were after Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade and himself. He told him about how during his 'death' he had killed more people than he ever imagined himself killing, he told him of the hardships he faced, cocaine, alcohol and emotions. He told him how Molly was involved and how Mycroft had a part in it. The emotions bit confused John, since when did Sherlock have emotions? Okay that was harsh, but since when was he troubled by them, how did they cause hardships? He killed people for god's sake, but that wasn't what troubled him. Emotions pah!

John had listened intently. He didn't interrupt nor did he ask questions. He sat there until Sherlock was spent, until he had told him everything he had intended; except for one thing. How he did it. John didn't feel right asking so he left it alone. He told Sherlock he understood why he had to do it and that he wasn't angry just disappointed he didn't come home sooner.

And just before he retired to bed, Sherlock grumbled a few words.

"God someone turn down the heat, I'm practically boiling here." And John turned down the heat.

OvO

The next morning John was greeted with ice entering his veins and a burning Sherlock in the living room. Shivering John went to start up a fire only to be stopped by Sherlock's yell of it already being hot enough in the flat and how he didn't need to be burnt to a crisp. John shivered again and put on an extra jumper.

Nothing exciting happened that day. As more time went, John grew colder and Sherlock hotter.

OvO

On the afternoon of the eighteenth day John was hopeless, he had no idea how to save Sherlock from Fate's grasp. She was going to take his Sherlock and his second chance. He was going to-wait. _His_ Sherlock? Since when did he start referring to Sherlock as his? Maybe always. Maybe Sherlock had always been his, that's why he came back. Luke never needed to bring him back, Sherlock had always been alive and always aimed to come back. He had seen the signs of attraction in Sherlock, startling as it was, it was there. Dilated pupils, increased heart rate and he avoided making eye contact with him. Especially lately, he avoided even touching John but he still complained that he was hot, getting hotter even (no not that way), just as John seemed to be getting colder, icy. He was no longer warm-blooded.

_Fate is never fair. You are caught in a current much stronger than you are: struggle against it and you'll drown not just yourself but those who try to save you. Swim with it, and you'll survive._

"No," John said catching Sherlock's attention. "Go away!"

He heard Sherlock get up from where he was perched by the open window (cooling off no less). And when Sherlock reached toward his he scrambled out of the way yelling for him not to touch him.

_Tsk tsk you've wasted the time Johnny, you've given up. Poor Sherlock will burn and there's nothing for you to do._

"Stop it," He would not have another breakdown, he could ignore Luke. "Just get out of my head and **out **of my life. I owe you nothing, you didn't bring him back he was already alive."

_Mmm clever, but are you forgetting who took your eyesight and so generously gave it back? But you're already paying for that, so no you don't owe me anything but your soul and maybe his too. He will burn and you will freeze. Goodbye, John._

"No!" He gasped but Luke was already gone and he couldn't bring him back.

John had made a mistake, a huge mistake and now not only he but Sherlock too were going to pay the price. His tears were an icy burn dripping out of his blue eyes and sobs wracked his body. Sherlock, he noticed, made no move to touch him he just flinched every time a sob left his mouth. He wished Sherlock wouldn't listen. He wished he would touch him, hold him, tell him it was okay. He wished he could tell Sherlock what really happened when he descended into the pit that day. And he prayed to god the ice would stop before it entered his heart.

OvO

Day nineteen was short, he spent the day cooped up in his room avoiding Sherlock at all costs. Through the ice John could feel the emotions he denied himself for so long. Of course he loved the consulting detective but he was too stubborn to admit it to himself and to Sherlock himself. It was always a mystery to Sherlock and John why he had put up with the man, he was rude, selfish, he had no regard for anyone elses feelings and quite frankly he was an arrogant dick. But maybe that's what John loved most or maybe he loved the thought of no one else (save Molly) caring for the man the way he does. Or quite possibly it was how Sherlock had entered his life and gave him what he craved. Danger. Cases were never dull with Sherlock, he had been drugged, kidnapped (twice, three times if you count Mycroft) and put through sorrow he hadn't felt since his mother died. God may not help him, but he loved Sherlock Holmes and they were going to die tomorrow.

Sherlock's PoV

It was so hot, fire burned through his veins. Fire was his blood burning him from the inside out, it had gotten to the point where he thought he would burn John if he touched him. But John seemed cold, icy. He had been wearing an extra jumper for a few days now, but how could he be cold when it was so hot. The cool London air did nothing for him, the air had felt dry the breeze like fire grazing across his skin.

When John had the outburst yesterday and yelled at Sherlock not to touch him maybe he knew it would burn when he touched him. But when John had cried he wished he could touch him, sooth him, tell him it was okay. He never pinned John for the type to have any other illness than PTSD but these outbursts and breakdowns had said differently. But he loved him anyways and he knew John loved him also, he'd seen the signs but he never said anything and he wished John would say something, he knew he noticed. Why wouldn't he say anything?

Emotions. Love, anguish things he felt while he was 'dead'. He felt dead away from John but he kept going with the thought of seeing him again. Every little thing, every detail every moment he spent with John made him love him more. It was hopeless, _he_ was hopeless and he was going to tell John everything tomorrow, because that was the day he was going to burn and god help him he was going to burn John with him.

OvO

John's PoV

Today was the day. The time they shared was coming to a close, to an end and he felt colder than ever. Nothing could warm him, he pulsed frost his veins pumped ice cold water and this was how he was going out. Today was the day he was going to freeze and god help him he was going to freeze Sherlock with him.

Frost covered his skin when he entered the kitchen stopping just a few inches away from Sherlock, never touching him. John could feel the heat and he suspected Sherlock could feel the cold. Their eyes met and a confession was made in a blaze.

"I love you." It was synchronized, both uttering those words together and together were shocked.

Now another confession.

"I'm going to die, today." Again.

"I'm going to freeze (burn)." Both said at he same time. _No_, John thought. It was perfect, Sherlock was going to burn. It was ironic, Moriarty had threatened to burn Sherlock, burn the heart out of him and he failed but no one was better than Fate. Fate ran the circle of life and their cycle was up, their time coming to a finale, but John needed one last thing before he departed.

"Kiss me." What what he said and together or not at all was what he thought. His eyelids fluttered closed.

Their lips met in an arctic blaze. Their skin sizzled where ice met fire. John lessened the fire as Sherlock melted the ice. Snow fell around them just as embers did . And just as ice started to melt and fire start to die, their tongues met in the frenzy and time stopped.

They went up into divine crystal and coal.

OvO

It had been said long ago, before humankind that there would be two. One born in flames and one born in an arctic breeze. Born once, one wealthy one poor. They were to meet as men, and they were to die, born to do nothing more. Their elements were to clash and they were to eliminate one another. To kill each other in fury and in loathing. Natural enemies.

The time came for them to meet as human man and Fate watched eagerly. But they never became enemies, instead ice killed for fire and fire died to save ice. Never did they loath one another, never did they hate and never did their story play out as planned. They fell in love their fate rewritten in fire and ice. Then did they die burning up in icy fire, in love never as planned. Soul mates.

They became two halves of a whole. One half fire one half ice both merging together in the middle.

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

"_Fate loves the fearless."-James Russell Lowell_

_Fin._


End file.
